


Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year

by inlovewithsouthpark (arsenicGeneticist)



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/F, F/M, High School, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicGeneticist/pseuds/inlovewithsouthpark
Summary: Senior year of high school finally rolls around, but not without its share of drama.Strap in.
Relationships: Eric Cartman/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Leopold "Butters" Stotch/Bradley, Sophie Gray/Scott Malkinson, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Bang the Doldrums

Cartman settled into his last new class of the day, and huffed in annoyance as he saw everyone he’d have to spend 7th hour with every day for the rest of the school year. Token and Clyde filtered in along with several freshmen and sophomores who were obviously Melvins. 

Why else would they take Algebra 2 for fun?

The only reason Cartman was taking it his senior year anyway was because he “went all punk rock on everyone” and didn’t do his homework sophomore and junior year. It certainly wasn’t because of-

Scott Malkinson set his shit on the desk next to Cartman’s and lisped something about his diabetes and the bullshit he did with Sophie during the summer. 

A few more strange underclassmen filled in the desks in back, and just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Butters skipped into the room. 

And not only was it fuckin’ Butters, it was fuckin’ Butters wearing some dude’s jacket. Which didn’t fit him. 

He scampered up to them and chirped, “Wul hey Scott! Hey Eric! I didn’t know you were a little bad at math, too!” before settling into the desk in front of Cartman’s. 

The balls on this guy.

He turned and faced his good pals, smiling brightly. “How were your summers? Mine was just great! Bradley and I-” 

Cartman made a rude noise and opened his math book. Butters turned his attention to Scott, not bothered by the obvious distaste for his faggy answer. “After all,” Cartman thought, “We haven’t spoken since sophomore year anyway.” Scott mumbled on about his escapades in the background.

And that was mostly because he refused to hang out with Bradley, Butters’ account-abili-buddy from that fuckin gay camp. He and his family had moved to South Park a few years after the whole thing got shut down, and they ‘happened’ to move into the house across the street from Butters. 

Besides that, Bradley was a year older and had a car. Stiff competition.

The summer before junior year, Bradley offered Butters rides to school for marching band practice, and they’d been dating since. It was nauseating, really. Because it was two dudes, obviously, not because Cartman was jealous. But not jealous enough to pull any Scott Tenorman-esque schemes to get Bradley back for-

"For what?" he thought defensively, "I don’t give a fuck about them."

It could’ve been a lie, but whatever.

The bell rang and the teacher hustled in. He was a middle-aged man who rarely wore his glasses and had a reputation for being strict about late homework and not much else; not that that ever effected Cartman personally. He could usually put on the charm and get out of any real repercussions. Over the next 45 minutes, the teacher explained the class rules, the expectations for the school year, and then passed out the syllabus before settling into his chair. “Just talk quietly amongst yourselves, it’s been a long day and I don’t have enough time to start in on anything today.”

At that, the class began chattering to their neighbors.

Instead of joining in, Cartman elected to eavesdrop on Scott’s conversation with Butters.

“Oh boy, I hope I won’t have any trouble remembering to turn stuff in all year,” Butters commented worriedly, tossing the stack of syllabuses onto Cartman’s desk to pass back. “But I can’t forget, or I’ll get grounded.”

“Yeah?” Scott mumbled, “I usually remember fine, I have a planner and everything.” 

“Y’know, I been meanin’ to get one for a while now, but wouldn’t you know it? I forgot all about it when I was school shoppin’. Maybe I’ll do that later today.” 

“What, you gonna ride your bike,” Scott asked, smirking.

“Nah, I was thinkin’ I’d see if Bradley’d able to take me,” Butters chirped, “I can’t drive just yet because my parents want me to take the second segment of driver’s trainin’ first. But at least I got such a nice guy to help me out ‘til then.” 

“I have my license, and my parents say they won’t let me drive because of my diabetes, but I think it’s just because they don’t want me going to parties.”

Whatever Butters was going to say was drowned out by the bell. Everyone began collecting their things and filtering towards the door, but Cartman stayed put. He didn’t feel like getting up just yet. Because he was tired, not because he wanted to watch Butters leave, or anything.  
“Oh, well, I’ll be seein’ ya Scott! Bye Eric!” Butters waved animatedly before disappearing out the door.

Scott turned to Cartman, and said matter-of-factly, “You’re still not over him. I can tell,”

Cartman glared at Scott. Sometimes he hated that asshole. 

Scott continued, “I saw your face when he mentioned Bradley, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much. He missed Butters’ last two band performances and Butters said he’d lied about where he was. But you didn’t hear that from me.” Scott grabbed his things and hurried out of the room when he noticed Sophie in the doorway.

“Hey kid, you gotta get out of here, I have to go home,” the teacher insisted, ushering Cartman out the door. 

He made his way to his locker and packed up his belongings before going out to the parking lot.  
“Weak,” he thought, pushing open the last door to the great outdoors. “It’s bright as fuck out here.”

He walked down the school’s front sidewalk and spotted Butters unlocking his bike. He was tying his trombone case to the back with mild success. 

“’Sup queer!” Cartman called as he approached, hoping he could gather information on how well his relationship was or wasn’t going. 

Butters turned sharply; his face was a little red and puffy-looking, like he’d been crying. He frowned and fiddled with the straps of his backpack, not even attempting to make eye contact. “I-i’m not really in a chattin’ mood, if that’s fine, Eric,” he said faintly, settling onto his little blue bike. Cartman grumbled something about how he didn’t care, and Butters was off.

“Even weaker,” He thought, heading out to the edge of the parking lot.

Kyle and Stan had agreed earlier to meet and hotbox the fuck out of Stan’s car after school and they’d obviously invited Cartman. Stan’s dad had given him about an ounce of weed to “promote the family business,” but Stan figured his friends could get more use out of it than the rest of the student body. 

Stan caught sight of him and began honking his horn in an attempt to get him to walk faster. 

No luck. 

Kyle stuck his head out of the passenger window and yelled, “Hey you fat bitch! Hurry it up, Kenny’s waiting!”

Nah.

Cartman made it to the car in his own time and flopped into the seat behind Stan. He didn’t want any of that daywalker Jew’s hair touching him if he could help it.

“Jesus Christ, dude, what’re you so fucking slow for,” Stan chided, starting the car, “Kenny’s got the day off, and he’s been texting me for the last half hour about hanging with us.” 

“He doesn’t want to be left out,” Kyle chimed in.

“Well it’s not my fault he decided to drop out of school like a poor dipshit,” Cartman pointed out, grabbing the joint Kyle passed back to him, “10th grade wasn’t that fucking hard.”

“You got me there,” Stan commented, turning out of the parking lot, “But Lord of the Flies was God awful.”

Kyle huffed, “Dude, it’s only God awful if you can’t understand the plot.”

“Of course you loved that book, you fag,” Cartman snickered, “It was the most boring shit I’ve ever read.”

“Oh, that’s right, you only like shit with genocide in it,” Kyle replied tartly, remembering the whole year Cartman carried around Mein Kampf just to be edgy. “You’re lucky you didn’t get suspended for carrying that book around.”

“Dude, you guys need to get it out of your system right now because I’m trying to get high and I don’t want you Melvins to ruin it by arguing,” Stan warned, turning onto Main Street.

“Fine,” Kyle agreed, “As long as that asshole behaves, too.”  
“Ugh, whatever.” Cartman grumbled.

“Good. Now check out the new radio I put in during the weekend.” Stan said, turning up the volume on the traphouse noise he had playing.

“I’m shocked that you don’t have fucking Taylor Swift on,” Kyle remarked, “You pretend it’s because Wendy makes you, but I know you love that shit.”

“Dude, I thought we just agreed to shut up.”  
They all quieted down and enjoyed the nice weather on the way to Kenny’s house.


	2. She's My Winona

Butters was having a rough few hours.

It was too mean. This was his last first day of school!

It hadn’t started great; he’d been woken up by his dad screaming about pancake mix in his coffee and threats of grounding, but that was an issue for later.

Butters had been happy to see his friends all day, though, especially the ones he hadn’t had time to visit during the summer! And he was glad to settle into his classes.

At lunchtime, he’d checked his Snapchat and became a little suspicious that Bradley was lying about where he was. The pictures he’d sent today had a completely different background than his usual work pictures. That in itself wasn’t that big a deal, but when Butters asked about the ‘neat-o new background,’ Bradley got mad and told him he could just find something else to do after school if he was going to be paranoid.

Ouch.

He usually wasn’t the type to get outwardly angry, so this was weird, too.

Butters hated doubting his boyfriend, especially since in the year they’d been together, Bradley hadn’t been anything but thoughtful and kind to him.

The last few weeks had been a little different, though. At the end of June, Bradley’s old friend Alex had called and asked if he could help move him into his new apartment, and of course he’d stayed all weekend and a few extra days, too. “Moving furniture,” he’d said.

When Bradley got back, he’d been distant and moody.

And then he’d missed Butters’ last few band events because of “prior engagements.”

Not that Butters could blame him, though.

“Playin’ trombone in the high school marching band isn’t all that interestin’ to watch, after all,” Butters thought glumly. “But maybe I’m just thinkin' too hard about it.”

He was packing up his belongings for the day when he remembered he needed to grab his instrument. He scurried into the band room, content to spend the next couple hours at Stark’s Pond playing for the ducks like his parents wanted in the first place. They approved of his relationship now, but they still didn’t approve of visiting on a school night.

The light was still on and the door unlocked; festival season was around the corner and everyone needed to use the practice rooms.

Butters skipped up to his music cubby and frowned when he saw that someone had scrambled his stuff all around. When he pulled the trombone case out, his music folder tumbled out after it. The scattered papers were torn to shreds, and the folder itself was covered in homophobic slurs.

Golly, how creative.

“Well,” he grumbled, dragging his trombone case in front of himself, “at least teacher can replace that stuff tomorrow.”

Butters snapped the case open and saw that his brand-new mouthpiece was missing altogether.

That was the last straw. Now he was going to get grounded for sure!

Tears stinging his eyes, he ducked into Practice Room 3 before anyone could catch him crying. At least in there, no one would wonder what he was doing.

After thinking tearfully about what to do for about five minutes, he composed himself and shoved the folder into his bag. He concluded he could try to read what was left of his music until he got some new copies. And he would keep an eye out for his mouthpiece. “Maybe it just got hucked into the parkin’ lot like my Earth Science project last year,” he thought.

Yeah.

Butters trudged to his bike at the front of the school and began settling his things on the back. Even if he didn’t have his whole instrument, he could at least go to the pond and do his homework, anyway. As soon as he had everything ready to go, he heard someone yell, “’Sup queer!”

Hamburgers. Not now.

He turned to see Cartman heading towards him. It was a little bit of a relief that it wasn’t whomever vandalized his things, but he still wasn’t in the mood for any shenanigans. Before Cartman could get another word out, Butters said meekly, “I’m not really in a chattin’ mood, if that’s fine, Eric.”

He settled on his bike as Cartman mumbled something about how he didn’t care before heading towards the parking lot.

Eric didn't care. How surprising.  
That was their problem in the first place, Butters supposed.

On that note, he readjusted his belongings on his bike rack and pedaled as fast as he could towards Stark’s Pond.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long time, so if you have any notes, feel free to let me know!  
> There's more on the way soon.  
> (The chapter titles are songs that inspired the work)


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